One mid-fall May weekend, Irene and I visited the valley with Brooke Gregory, our physicist-friend who works in La Serena for the Cerro Tololo Inter-American Observatory, whose telescopes, along with those of the Gemini and SOAR observatories, are in the valley. Here we pilgrims are--Bill, Brooke, and Irene--at breakfast in the Hotel Galpón, a short walk from Pisco Elqui.
Elqui Valley boasts that it gets 340 sunny days a year. Alas, our Saturday was overcast. This is what the mountain in front of the hotel looked like.
In back of the hotel, there's a swimming pool--the water now far too cold for swimming--and a mountain with wine grapes planted half way up the side.
Grapes are the Elqui Valley's lifeblood; they are planted wherever they can be and watered by drip-irrigation. The fabric fences are windbreaks.
Montegrande, six kilometers from our hotel, has had its church recently restored thanks to the Luksic family, who own much of the valley and have greatly increased its prosperity. The family is also behind the initiative to build environmentally ruinous dams in southern Chile.
The church has a colonial baroque interior, but what I found more interesting was the staircase spiraling up to the choir loft. Perhaps we corkscrew our way into heaven.
Mistral, who was a schoolgirl in Montegrande, studying as well as living with her teacher, her older sister, Emelina, directed that she be buried in the town, and so she is, on a hill overlooking nearby fields. Her shrine has a bust of her romanticized to look like Arthur Rubinstein.
Gabriel died in 1957 in Hempstead, Long Island. Recently reburied with her in the tomb is her nephew and adopted son, Juan Miguel, always known as Yin Yin, who died, a suicide, age 17, in Brazil in 1943. To me, more lovely than the tomb itself is the rock wall in front of it, which knocks off the work of Joaquin Torres Garcia (see his painting in my article on him).
In back of the hotel, there's a swimming pool--the water now far too cold for swimming--and a mountain with wine grapes planted half way up the side.
Grapes are the Elqui Valley's lifeblood; they are planted wherever they can be and watered by drip-irrigation. The fabric fences are windbreaks.
Montegrande, six kilometers from our hotel, has had its church recently restored thanks to the Luksic family, who own much of the valley and have greatly increased its prosperity. The family is also behind the initiative to build environmentally ruinous dams in southern Chile.
The church has a colonial baroque interior, but what I found more interesting was the staircase spiraling up to the choir loft. Perhaps we corkscrew our way into heaven.
Mistral, who was a schoolgirl in Montegrande, studying as well as living with her teacher, her older sister, Emelina, directed that she be buried in the town, and so she is, on a hill overlooking nearby fields. Her shrine has a bust of her romanticized to look like Arthur Rubinstein.
Gabriel died in 1957 in Hempstead, Long Island. Recently reburied with her in the tomb is her nephew and adopted son, Juan Miguel, always known as Yin Yin, who died, a suicide, age 17, in Brazil in 1943. To me, more lovely than the tomb itself is the rock wall in front of it, which knocks off the work of Joaquin Torres Garcia (see his painting in my article on him).
Having paid our respects to the art of poetry, we drove up the Cochiguaz road, looking for hippie painters and potters and jewelers, most of whom had in fact moved on when the end of summer took the tourists away. We walked up a lane with handmade signs promising "art" and crossed a creek. I stopped to look upstream
and downstream
The lane gave us the option of following a handsome horse to the stream we'd just crossed, which here was called the Rio Magico, or pressing on still further toward "art," whose sign pointed to the right; we chose right. (This photo is by Brooke.)
What we found, after a 20-minute walk, was the home of a remarkable woman painter, who built it herself and was now looking to sell it to move to Santiago and be near her 14-year-old daughter, who'd left because she wants to be a musician, needs advanced training, and had had enough isolation. The sign on the house says "Arte" in bright letters.
Interesting woman, interesting history; unfortunately we didn't care much for her paintings. Farther down the Cochiguaz road we came to the Casa de Agua, where Brooke's niece, who also had an interesting history, worked one summer. The remarkable thing at this resort was the pool the river makes for swimming. Please make your imagination quadruple the pool you see here (triple the boulder, too). The rope hangs across the pool for swimmers to grab to keep from going downstream, which wouldn't be dangerous but would be slippery and rocky walking back from.
In the town square, as in maybe 80 percent of Chilean towns, there is a statue to one of the nation's heroes--collectively, they are referred to as "the glorious ones"--in the War of the Pacific (1879-84). He is Capt. Arturo Prat, who with a handful of sailors leapt from his sinking wooden ship, the Esmeralda, onto the Peruvian ironclad that had rammed it, crying out "Let's board them, boys!" and was quickly killed. Chile won the war and took territory away from Peru and Bolivia, which lost its access to the sea. The training ship on which Chilean naval cadets now travel the world to earn their stripes is called the Esmeralda also, and the navy keeps a memorial buoy floating where the first Esmeralda sank. As represented here, Prat is the spitting image of Nettie's handsome father.
At some point in our outing--and neither Irene nor I can remember when or, even more amazing, where--darling Brooke took this picture of us that makes us look younger than we have in years. A miraculous valley indeed!
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The next day, Sunday, the sun came out full blast, and the world looked quite different. Here's the Hotel Galpón pool, for example.
This valley we then drove up. We stopped at the artisanal village at Horcón, which isn't on the tourist map that begins this post (sorry). The tourist season being over, only four artists were showing their wares; we bought from three of them. The village's stage caught my attention; I was glad not to have to think up something to do on it.
Then, after lunch, when we got to the car to start the drive to the airport, I realized a better photo had been there all along, and I'd missed it.
Interesting woman, interesting history; unfortunately we didn't care much for her paintings. Farther down the Cochiguaz road we came to the Casa de Agua, where Brooke's niece, who also had an interesting history, worked one summer. The remarkable thing at this resort was the pool the river makes for swimming. Please make your imagination quadruple the pool you see here (triple the boulder, too). The rope hangs across the pool for swimmers to grab to keep from going downstream, which wouldn't be dangerous but would be slippery and rocky walking back from.
Exhausted from our outing, we lunched in Paihuano at the bistrot Brooke is standing in front of. The sky looked like it might rain, and a few drops fell.
In the town square, as in maybe 80 percent of Chilean towns, there is a statue to one of the nation's heroes--collectively, they are referred to as "the glorious ones"--in the War of the Pacific (1879-84). He is Capt. Arturo Prat, who with a handful of sailors leapt from his sinking wooden ship, the Esmeralda, onto the Peruvian ironclad that had rammed it, crying out "Let's board them, boys!" and was quickly killed. Chile won the war and took territory away from Peru and Bolivia, which lost its access to the sea. The training ship on which Chilean naval cadets now travel the world to earn their stripes is called the Esmeralda also, and the navy keeps a memorial buoy floating where the first Esmeralda sank. As represented here, Prat is the spitting image of Nettie's handsome father.
At some point in our outing--and neither Irene nor I can remember when or, even more amazing, where--darling Brooke took this picture of us that makes us look younger than we have in years. A miraculous valley indeed!
(Brooke tells us the picture was taken in Montegrande.)
•
The next day, Sunday, the sun came out full blast, and the world looked quite different. Here's the Hotel Galpón pool, for example.
We drove to Pisco Elqui, revisited its square, admiring the facade of its renovated church.
We revisited Pisco Elqui's most famous hotel, the Refugio Misterios de Elqui, which we'd eaten at that Friday night. I took no pictures but I encourage you to see the ones their website shows, which are accompanied by music (http://www.misteriosdeelqui.cl/). Brooke took this picture of bougainvilla growing near the pool.
We revisited Pisco Elqui's most famous hotel, the Refugio Misterios de Elqui, which we'd eaten at that Friday night. I took no pictures but I encourage you to see the ones their website shows, which are accompanied by music (http://www.misteriosdeelqui.cl/). Brooke took this picture of bougainvilla growing near the pool.
And we all relished the view up the Rio Claro Valley.
This valley we then drove up. We stopped at the artisanal village at Horcón, which isn't on the tourist map that begins this post (sorry). The tourist season being over, only four artists were showing their wares; we bought from three of them. The village's stage caught my attention; I was glad not to have to think up something to do on it.
For tourists, unless they have special permission, the road ends in Alcohuaz. Here, we came across a new resort, the Frontier. To look at its cabins and waterfront, Irene and Brooke made the long walk down to the river. On their return they rested.
I had neglected to bring my antidepressants on our weekend outing, and was feeling light-headed and glum. So while they walked down to the river, I rested--then wondered why they were taking so long. I looked for something beautiful to record and found it in the Frontier's restaurant trellis with a puffball cloud floating past.
I had neglected to bring my antidepressants on our weekend outing, and was feeling light-headed and glum. So while they walked down to the river, I rested--then wondered why they were taking so long. I looked for something beautiful to record and found it in the Frontier's restaurant trellis with a puffball cloud floating past.
